If I Never Looked
by The GirlieGyarados
Summary: I don't know if it's possible, but can you wrap your mind around what happens when something is so beautiful it's horrible and yet so flatly plain that it does cry out for its soul-rending beauty to be recognized?"


  
If I Never Looked  
***  
  
A/N: Classical music and Don Bluth movies after a night without sleep will mess you up, my friend.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own Zelda, more specifically, don't own Ocarina of Time--because if I did, I would go back to last week and study for my goddamn algebra test. However, I do own this little bit of insanity. No touchy.  
  
***  
  
If I could remember back to when all this began--and believe you me, I most certainly can--I will remember that, even from the start, he was never beautiful. Not even then. Not even as the Kokiri, not even an eternal child.  
  
...That would be because their beauty is in their innocence. And even then, he'd been far from an innocent child. I hadn't known then, but now I do. The Wise Old Owl told me. He told me about this poor, sweet little child, buried in a nest of black skittering monsters, with a small she-fey, a fairy of Deku. I did not know about whom Kaepora spoke. We'd never met. We'd never meet.  
  
Even so, his features were still child's features. A frightened child, but a child all the same. He'd had hope and purity then. He was a round faced child, scruffy-haired, short and oddly dressed, an Imp of the Wood, not a Saviour of our World. A...he'd had a...charm then, but he was not beautiful. He knew it, too.   
  
When he stood next to me, how could he possibly have been unaware?  
  
I was beautiful. I _was._ Like the black Gerudo man was ugly beyond reason, I was, and I supposed I would always be, so very beautiful. I was pure, and sweet, and--I knew it even then--oh-so-very-smart. I was the Princess of Hyrule; more than that, I was the Princess of Destiny. It wouldn't be _right_ if I wasn't beautiful.  
  
I met Link a few more times, after that first one. He would come and see me in the courtyard. I don't know why, but I did appreciate his visits.   
  
I guess it was his charm, again.   
  
I wish that there could have been more visits, despite how little I felt reassured from them. He would always give me some encouragement--a map, a treasure, on few occasions one of those invaluable gems--but he would always have a new scratch, a new slice for me to see, and always he left at least one of his blooddrops on me. But I wasn't angry about him staining me. I couldn't be angry with the little kokiri before...well, before _that._  
  
Yeah. You know what I'm talking about.  
  
I knew he had the last of those precious stones though. I don't quite understand even now why I knew, but I did. I think it might have been to clear my mind, so i could get the Ocarina to him.  
  
I think. So much of that night I didn't notice.  
  
His face was one of those things.  
  
That would be the last time I would see his face for seven long, long years--I knew that beforehand--and I did not notice it. I didn't look.   
  
I think, though, in my defense, that I certainly didn't have time--_irony, irony_--to notice much that night.  
  
I had plenty of time to notice later, though. Seven years.  
  
Seven years of hiding from Ganondorf...under the guise of a Sheikah boy. It's the last thing he'd expect. ...Actually, that's not true. A Gerudo warrior, now, he would never expect that. But not even Impah's magic is strong enough to hide me as one of the desert women.   
  
Anyways.  
  
Impah traversed Hyrule, trying to aid its people, to shield them from what woes Ganondorf should bring upon them. I noticed a lot. I remembered a lot--the orphanage in that little village haunts my dreams now and if there's a just goddess it will haunt them forever. So much death. So much blood. So much pain. The cries of so many little ones--there's a perverse thing about heartbroken wails, they sound like demented _laughter_. Burned houses, burned things, burned people. And worse, whenever Ganondorf could arrange it.  
  
So much ugly sorrow.  
  
But even after these seven ugly years--_still!_--when the sky was beautiful if only no more smoke than usual scorched it--when the sight of any bloody weapon wielded by any bloody peasant was a marvel--when I'd welcome the walking undead back in exchange for the lantern-ghosts--_still!_  
  
Our Hero was not even remotely beautiful. Different, but not beautiful.  
  
He'd grown, over these seven years. But of course. From eleven--a boy--to eighteen--a man. He would have had to grow, I don't know why I let that surprise me. Oh, but last time we met, he was shorter than me, who would have thought he'd ever get so tall?  
  
And thin. A lanky hero. We waited so long for the man to wield The Sword, and yet this man is still a boy, in oh so many ways...  
  
The change in face was the most unsettling. You remember, I'd said he'd had a cherubic face, a round face, not beautiful, naturally, but still. Now, when I saw him in the Temple, I did not recognize his unhandsome face. Not his face. If it was not for his sword, The Sword, I would have been lost. His face was thin, long and thin, with those big pale eyes deep and watchful, a straight thin nose, and such a quiet looking mouth. He rarely spoke and then never without need. His face--his unbelievable face--was most of the communication he ever had need of.  
  
I eventually got to see almost all of his unbeautiful expressions on his unbeautiful face. Confusion. That was there the first time he set eyes upon the Sheikah boy. It returned a lot. Surprise. Hurt. Fear. Pain. I and the Sheikah boy saw these frequently as well. I only got to see his heroic rage once, in Kakariko town, when both of us were nearly beaten to death by that Shadow Beast. His rage was horrible and terrible and thrilling, in that strange, restless way that makes foolish old soldiers think of glory. And, ultimately, just as futile against Bongo Bongo. The thought that he must have worn this face before, when I couldn't see him, is only minimally comforting. Because I know it's a lie.  
  
Morpha broke his arm. Did you know that?   
  
I did. The Sheikah boy did. I saw him come staggering out of the lake, clutching his left arm (a blessing on whatever spirit that protected his sword arm), and his arm swelling up tight under his gauntlets, and his longish hair all scruffed up and his face was splotchy and wet from crying. Crying in pain.   
  
I told him of the fire arrows, I gave him potion, and then I left. Despite how much I wanted to see if this hero could be beautiful, I didn't want to see his face. I didn't want to see how I'd already imagined his eyes would light up with gratitude and his Hylian ears perk up, and how he might--maybe, it's certainly not _very_ likely--have smiled.  
  
I'd never seen him smile.  
  
And besides...our Hero of Time...  
  
Well, I'd seen him, ah, _vulnerable_ like this before. Too many times. I didn't want to watch him, ugly splotchy boy, because I didn't know, because--because I was still beautiful, and even if I was beginning to realize that the Courage bearer would never be beautiful or handsome, I still needed to be, and he might start to make me unbeautiful, he must be because my hands are wet and if dare--_but I don't!_--to feel my...  
  
...these Sheikah veils....  
  
I don't know why I am saying all this.  
  
Really, I don't.  
  
Maybe it's just to make noise. Not that I can be heard now. The crystal...  
  
I've accepted my doom.  
  
We must have been mistaken. Or mislead by some dark wizard. Because there can be no way that the ugly creature fighting out there can be the hero of time.  
  
He can't bear the triforce of _Courage_ for godsakes. Maybe he and me got our triforces turned around, because he's doing the wise thing--being terrified.  
  
Look at him.  
  
Will you just look at him.  
  
He's got the Master Sword out, but he isn't panicking--not yet--as Ganondorf works his evil. He's simply swinging the sword as hard as he can at those spell-balls. Some of them fly back and hit him. Most of them don't. A nice tactic for staying alive, but I don't think it's going to kill Ganondorf. Which means we're all dead.  
  
And he knows it too. I can't hear his words, but he's screaming something, his face is stretched with the force of it. He's all flushed again and his eyes are wide, and I think that he's the only one of us two who's showing how scared we are.  
  
He's a mere little candle flame. That's all. We wished for the great inferno, and we have a wee little candle, flickering almost out of existance, dancing here and there, and Ganondorf should puff it out without exercising a bare tenth of his power.  
  
But yet, he doesn't.  
  
The little flame, the little spark is still dancing, and he hasn't flicked away, but suddenly the crystal surrounding me has, and his hot sweaty face, all red from exertion and tear lined and he's terrified, I can barely see his pupils--that blue is overwhelming--all in front of me and then forcing me to run, his frantic fear must be contagious, I never knew I could move so _fast_ when I'm not the Sheikah boy...  
  
Two Stalfos.  
  
We both scream, he cuts them down, we run some more.  
  
More running, until I'm no longer hurting my feet on the stone of the castle, but rather I'm running on dirt. The Hero of Time is behind me, but whereas I'm stopping, he's not. Then, I'm being bowled onto the ground, and the hero is covering my body with his own. I'm only wondering why for a second or two, then I hear minor explosions and stone grinding on stone and the cacaphony that I've never heard before but I can identify immediately as the castle collapsing.  
  
Silence.  
  
The Hero is still lying across me.  
  
It's a few seconds more before he gets up. He turns to see if there's anything in the castle that should inspire terror in him. When he finishes, he turns to extend a hand to help me up, only I'm already standing. We regard each other.   
  
I realize for the first time that we're both breathing hard. The next thing I should be realizing is that, by some miracle, Ganondorf is dead, but I don't. The hero of Time is looking me straight in the face, marking every feature that I have, and then, I find that I'm doing something very similar.  
  
You see, those big blue eyes I mentioned? They are really, quite blue. It's like looking at the surface of Lake Hylia.  
  
Now, stop what I know you're thinking, because it's certainly not true. I am not seeing myself in his eyes. But I am seeing five temples, and three Cursed Things, and what haunts the Kakarikan well, and Poes in the field and spiders that crawl and volcanoes, lakes, deserts, and forests and all sorts of things, and then there's a loud sound behind us, in the rubble.  
  
The Hero of Time turns around. He draws the Master Sword.  
  
He turns to go investigate whatever makes the noise, but the noise in the rubble is impatient after so long a wait already, and throws itself up to announce its presence.  
  
It is Ganon.  
  
He's a massive pig thing, with a twisted body and a twisted sword, and tail that thumps the earth, and it is without a face. It has eyes, and some massive crown-helmet upon its brow, but it _does not have a face_. There is merely a shadow there, like some cosmic censor saw it and blotted it out, leaving a mute thing in its place.  
  
That is the face of evil. It must be.   
  
There's certainly nothing uglier. And its voiceless gaze has been fixed upon my hero, who has not moved a whit since Ganon appeared from the ruination.  
  
I can still see his face, from where I stand (still! I still stand! it is a miracle!), and I know everything on that unbeautiful face.   
  
He's surprised. He's confused, but these two are not leeches to stay but birds to flit away, and there, something very concrete moves to take its place. It is terror.  
  
He is terrified of Ganon. His eyes are wide and they dance like his candle, and his face is mixtures of sorry red blotch and grey horror. His lips are chapped and he even now chews on the lower one, and he radiates his fear for everyone to feel, hearing how quick his heartbeat got or seeing that his skinny chest is inflating itself even faster than usual.   
  
And there is something else that he has, not in such a handsomeless face, but in that lean, worn, thin body, because he bears a shield up to guard his heart and he carries a sword that has been blessed or charmed, or both, and he is moving towards Ganon. With untrembling body and a little glow on one hand, he is moving towards Ganon. His fear is inexorably carved into that face, that face of heros, yet that hero, _he is moving towards Ganon._  
  
I don't know what will happen. Not even great Din and Nayru and Farore can know. The most sacred and blessed Hero that has ever graced Hyrule will be within Ganon's reach in a pace.   
  
He's smiling now. He smiles as he walks into the face of death.  
  
I'd never seen his smile before.   
  
It's very beautiful.  
  
If he survives this...if anyone survives this...  
  
If anyone survives this, it will be the so-far-removed-from-beautiful Hero of Time.  
  


* * *

  
The GirlieGyarados  
(They Live In Secret Places...)  
  
A/N: Now, vee let zee flames come a-rollin' in...::cackles, rubs hands together::  
Preview of next chapter: There is no next chapter.  
Last Words: "Isn't it ironic that the line, 'Who could refrain, that had a heart to love...' which nowadays, is quoted in so many pointless love stories, was originally said by Macbeth as he frames the king's manservants for the murder which he, Macbeth, committed?"  



End file.
